Tuesday, October 31, 2006

A great many people in St. Louis have seen something of the peculiar performances of a young mulatto named Albert Rhodes, who follows the river for a regular living, but whose chief delight is in exhibiting his skill as a whistler and ventriloquist before crowds wherever he can find them.

At Vicksburg, about two months ago, he attended a funeral. The burial service was recited, the coffin lowered into the grave, and the boards adjusted. As the first clod of earth fell on the boards there came a low moan as if from the coffin. The sounds at first were very indistinct, but in a minute they became loud and frantic, as if the corpse had come to life and was struggling to free itself from the habiliments of the grave. Most of the bystanders fled in dismay, the women and children shrieking. Those who remained hastily raised the coffin from the grave, and, without waiting to unscrew the lid, pried it open with an axe. It was at once discovered that it was not possible that there could be a spark of life in the corpse. Decomposition had set in. The next day it leaked out that Rhodes was the offender.